


Incident On The Bay Of The Descending Dragon - 1/1 Spike/Xander  Adult

by Reremouse (TheBelfry)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Mild Kink, Prostitution only not exactly, Responsible adult Xander, exotic settings, secret agenting, sex while plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBelfry/pseuds/Reremouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander's a secret agent watcher man undercover in paradise. And Spike's been hired to have sex with him. No - really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incident On The Bay Of The Descending Dragon - 1/1 Spike/Xander  Adult

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savoytruffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savoytruffle/gifts).



It's hot. It's hot and Xander has to wear a suit and tie.

He has to wear a suit and a tie - surrounded by guys in black suits and black sunglasses who've had their sweat glands surgically removed - on a charter boat off the coast of Vietnam, skimming the descending dragon - which isn't actually a dragon.

He hopes.

In his line of work, a guy can never be too sure.

Chinh - his translator - tells him they're limestone mountains. Then he tells him they're the spine of mother dragon who sleeps off the coast of Vietnam with her children, protecting the country they love from foreign invaders. Xander doesn't say anything - he knows the story.

Uncle Rory told it to him but his version had a different ending. One with beer and explosions, POW-MIAs and a buddy with his face blown off.

Xander likes the local version better.

He'd like it more if he knew where he was going because Ma Dragon looks the same all the way along her length and Xander's about to sweat through the armpits of his jacket.

The boat starts a sweeping turn away from shore, aiming between two monoliths and his translator's talking again. This is an honor, he's saying, a preview of a beautiful paradise for tourism, a land of plenty from eras gone by and Xander tunes out. He read the brochure and this guy is quoting it word for word.

He's not here to be a tourist.

Not really.

He just plays one on TV and hopes he doesn't get killed.

And he doesn't know where he's going. Only that there's a slayer there waiting for him. Somewhere.

If he's lucky, she'll be small enough to fit into his suitcase because Vietnam's got the tightest security Xander's ever experienced and he's been through Ben Gurion twice.

Then the boat's rounding the rocks and a sliver of paradise stretches out before them like a travel brochure with a sprawling red and gold complex rising from the jungle.

Xander gives himself an upgrade. He's not a tourist but he plays one in the movies. High budget movies filmed in exotic locales.

_Kids, get your high school diplomas and you too can have this glamorous - sweaty - career._

 

 

He tunes in again to something that wasn't in the brochure.

"Your escort will take you to your suite where your companion is waiting."

"My what now?"

"Your companion," he says in the same tone of voice that's offered Xander cows and daughters. "The Pryce-Travers corporation has requested that we provide you with companionship for your holiday here on the bay of the descending dragon."

Xander's stomach is descending too.

Sweat is gathering in a line along the band of Xander's patch and on his palms but he nods the way he thinks a man used to rent-a-girlfriend services should. Willow's cheerful 'you still like blondes, don't you? is beginning to make a lot of really bad sense.

The boat docks - except there's no dock. It grounds itself in the sand and two of the suits jump out to catch luggage - and Xander when he heaves himself over the side. They're the best dressed porters-slash-intimidation he's ever met and they lead him in close file over the beach and into the jungle - the jungle and a fucking imperial palace.

Somewhere along the way, the guys in black suits melt away and girls in long dresses take their places and the air smells like orchids and fruit. More girls line the stairs - bowing when he passes - and line the red and gold pathways and flank the doors - one of those girls is Suong - and it gets weirder from there.

Weirder and farther from the streets of Hanoi and his first class seat on the airplane.

And closer and closer to his royal suite with a rent-a-girlfriend inside and he hopes to the god of one-eyed Southern Californian working schmoes that she's Suong because he could use a good fuck right now and with a rent-a-girlfriend hanging off his arm, the only way he's gonna get one is finding the Slayer and taking her home to Cleveland - which doesn't have much of a gay scene but it's got a bar. And in the bar are a few guys who aren't bad looking and think Xander isn't bad looking. And that's all he needs these days.

It's times like this Xander regrets ever asking Willow to gay him up.

One of the girls is talking and Chinh's translating, talking about telephones and views and the bidet in the bathroom.

Then he's led through the doors and he's pretty sure somebody mixed up his suite with the King of Siam's and the windows are open to the beach and the ocean and the jungle and Xander's glad he's up to date on all his shots.

He ditches his jacket, pitches his patch and loosens his tie before falling face down on the bed. He's half asleep by the time he feels hands on his back but he's too tired to wave her off and anyway that wouldn't be nice.

It feels good letting soft hands peel him out of his sweaty shirt and pry him out of his sweaty socks and shoes and pants and he's on the verge of falling asleep again when he feels lips against his ear. "Don't fall asleep mate. You're the guest of honor at dinner tonight - wouldn't want to miss seeing your girl dance."

That's the problem with praying to the god of one-eyed Southern Californian working schmoes - he's a pranking bastard and Xander pries his eye open to stare at Spike. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Told the council they couldn't afford me - guess I was wrong," he says and stretches his arms over his head, showing off the goods and Xander's brain is stalled on Willow asking him if he still liked blonds. "I'm your whore, pet."

"You've got to be joking." The words are out of Xander's mouth before he has time to think. Out of his mouth with their skirts tucked into their pantyhose because of course Spike isn't joking.

For one thing, Spike's not the kind of guy who'd show up in Vietnam to joke about being Xander's whore.

For another - he's dressed to play the part.

Sleeveless loose gray shirt - open to show the goods. Leather pants making sure the goods get a good looking over.

Xander licks his lips.

They're good goods.

And his feet are bare.

Some part of Xander thinks that's the weirdest part of all.

Then Spike puts them back on equal ground in the stupid questions department. "Like what you see?"

Xander wonders if he's too old for duh. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you," Spike says, lifting a towel from a basin and squeezing out water, picking off an orange flower petal and dropping it back into the water before running the cloth over Xander's chest. Down his flanks and hips and legs to his toes and Xander can't hold back a groan.

It's been a long year and a long day and if Spike wants to be his whore, he's not going to tell him no. But it's surreal watching Spike give him a towel bath. What’s even more surreal is that Spike doesn't hate it.

The leather isn't that thick.

"You told me you're my whore. But what you really meant is you're here employed by the council as my assistant, cleverly disguised as a - ahh - " Cleverly disguised as a man giving him a blow job with hollowed cheeks and fluttering black lashes that tickle Xander's lower belly, and hands that smell like the flowers floating in the basin water.

Apparently, Spike is here as his whore.

And Xander isn't going to stop him.

No - Xander's going to run a hand into Spike's hair and ride his hips into his mouth and come in glorious Technicolor.

And did he mention it'd been a long, hard year?

He lays where he is and closes his eye - thinks he could get used to warm ocean breezes drying scented water from his body. There's not much he can't get used to anymore and hey - blow jobs.

Xander falls asleep thinking about Bond movies. The guy falls asleep after sexy hijinks and wakes up suspended over a pool of sharks.

 

 

Xander wakes up to a world of orange and red clouds and water, golden air and Spike's lips wrapped around his cock. He feels like he's been there for a while and Xander spreads his legs - stretches to the four corners of the bed and lets Spike do his thing.

It's not an orgasm.

It's an experience.

It's a hell of a way to wake up.

This place has great service.

"What're you smirking at?"

Spike shrugs but he doesn't stop smirking. "You. A poof." He gets up and Xander tracks him to the closet where all his clothes are pressed and hanging. Spike takes out loose, cool clothes and Xander blesses the local dress code. "Didn't believe Red when she hired me."

"Ah - ah - ah but do you believe her now?" Xander sits up on his elbows and its worth the effort, watching Spike lick the corner of his lips like he's tasting Xander there.

"Fuck me after dinner, mate. Then we'll see."

 

 

 

Dinner turns out to be six or seven courses. Xander loses count when Spike leans over, blows on his neck the way he likes it...and tells him he's eating grilled porcupine.

Porcupine?

Does not taste like chicken.

It actually tastes like a gamy piglet. He's eaten worse. There's been some months when his life was Fear Factor: The Extended Cut and he's learned there's not a lot a bottle of Pepto Bismol can't knock on its ass.

So Xander keeps eating and Spike keeps filling his cup with ginger-flavored paint thinner disguised as a local delicacy and somewhere around a sweet fruit salad Xander guesses is dessert, he leans over and whispers in Xander's ear again.

This time, he tells him he's got a plug in his ass, thick and short and slathered with lube but it's not the same as a hard, hot, living cock and Xander chokes on a piece of persimmon. He chases it with a shot and when the cup hits the table on the way down, Spike's hand is in his lap, rubbing up and down his length and Xander bites his lip because it's probably not Emily Post-approved table manners to let on he's getting a hand job under the table during dessert.

Xander looks over at Spike, who's watching the dancing girls at the other end of the gilded hall, dressed in dresses that're long, tight and blue, dancing to some kind of traditional chimes and drums and weird stringed things and if it wasn't for Spike's fingers smoothing his shirt over his zipper, he'd think Spike was fascinated.

Totally absorbed. Like he's listening to them sing in Vietnamese.

Turns out, he is.

"It's ca tru - poetry and music. They're singing about the dragon. The one out in the bay," Spike says while his fingers work their wily wiles. "Gave up her life to stay here and now she mostly sleeps. Might wake up some day, might not."

Xander likes Spike's version of the story best.

He probably would even if Spike's hand wasn't in his lap. "I didn't know you spoke Vietnamese."

"Took a Berlitz course."

Which may or may not be true but Xander doesn't really feel like asking. He feels like grabbing Spike's wrist, dragging him back to the suite then throwing him down on the bed and pounding out a couple weeks' worth of tension in his ass.

But Spike knows Vietnamese. And Xander didn't survive Africa, Argentina and Minsk by forgetting the job every time he got wasted. "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

"She's the short one - in the middle."

It's weird to realize Spike's been stroking him off while staring at a Slayer but he doesn't waste time thinking about the why of it..

Spike gives his balls a gentle squeeze and lifts his chin. "I hear things." He's breathing too - looks around and slides under the table and Xander stares and tries to memorize the face of the Slayer he's come all this way to find while Spike sucks on him silently under the table cloth.

He's going to have a lot of explaining to do back in Cleveland when Buffy catches him getting hard every time Suong walks into a room because it will really, really not be what she thinks it is.

And he's still thinking about Buffy when he comes and there's so much wrong there, Xander's still processing where to start by the time Spike slithers back into sight. He could make an excuse. Dropped my fork, but he doesn't. He could also put a finger into his mouth and suck on it like he hasn't had enough sucking and plans to get right back to it once Xander's fragile human body recovers.

Spike does that one.

And Xander's fragile human body is never going to be the same again and he wonders if they'll say he died in the line of duty.

Dessert is something white and creamy that gets eaten with fingers and little sweet pancakes because that's how the world works when you're Xander.

Whatever it is, it's good and when Xander has a second helping, he's kinda grateful to Spike for leaving his belt buckle undone.

As whores go, Spike's surprisingly considerate.

Not that Xander has a lot of experience with whores.

On the record.

In the afterglow of dinner and a blow with the anticipation of a long, leisurely fuck - and Xander thinks it might be good to try out that great big shower and fuck Spike against the wall in it - he starts wanting to talk to Spike. Not to ask him what he's doing in Vietnam or why he's Xander's whore. Hey - gift horses and mouths - it's none of Xander's business.

That's when he starts to realize he might be homesick.

Right before he realizes he's thinking of Spike as 'home' and when did that happen?

Before or after Spike's hand started rubbing Xander's thigh to the slow beat of ca tru and the little movements his hips are making on the chair reminding Xander there's a plug in that ass with his name on it.

Xander acknowledges he apparently has a really weird definition of home.

"Last dance, pet."

"How can you tell?"

"They stop dancing when the guest of honor leaves." Spike fingers slide up and they've got Xander's legs well trained. He's not painfully hard from Spike's touching and teasing. He's too old for that after the kind of blows Spike keeps giving him. But he's definitely showing interest.

And Xander has a funny feeling it'd be rude to deny Spike the fuck he's been keeping himself ready for all evening.

Like refusing somebody's grandmother's cookies.

The guest of honor leaves and takes his whore with him.

 

 

 

There are flower petals scattered on the carpet when they walk back to Xander's suite and they stick to the bottoms of Xander's bare feet.

It's weirdly matrimonial and that should make Xander nervous but it doesn't.

Because Spike's unbuttoning his leather pants while he walks, dipping fingers in like they're not still in a hallway where anyone can see what Xander sees, the head of Spike's dick poking out between the flaps of his fly, slick and wet and ready. The door's not even closed when Spike's wiggling out of his pants and padding over to the bed. He puts his hands down on the mattress and spreads his legs, shows off the thick black plug when he arches his back and looks at Xander over his shoulder.

"Want to give me a hand, mate?"

Xander wants to give him a whole lot more than that and he's getting harder but he's not there yet. He's only human after all, so he says "I want to watch," and stumbles his way into a big, deep chair and curls his fingers around the arms.

"Sure about that?" Spike's twisted around like he's got elastic in his spine and his fingertips are creeping up pale white against the black.

"The customer is always right, right?" Xander says and digs his fingers into the upholstery because it's always better to wait. So he's not technically the customer - it's a thrill being always right with Spike. Especially when always right means Spike spreads his legs and hooks his fingertips around the base of the toy, rubs his cheek against the mattress and moans when he starts to stretch and it starts to come out, gleaming slick and holy fuck how did he ever fit that up there?

"Lube, pet," Spike says because of course Xander said that out loud but Spike's voice is all breathy and sexy so Xander's not going to complain.

He's breathing and rocking himself against the mattress with little whimpers but somehow he keeps his hips up high enough that Xander can see it all. See his dick leak and his thighs start to shake when he eases the plug back in.

Xander thinks he hears a whimper and knows he hears a moan when it slides out with a wet sound and Spike shoves it back in hard, bracing himself with a knee and starting to pant. "Bloody hell," Spike says when Xander says fuck and Spike quivers around the widest point of the toy, works the wide rim in and out of himself until his fingers tremble.

"Done watching," Xander says and Spike scrambles off the bed, stalks Xander and braces a knee on either side of him on the chair, takes one of Xander's hands and guides it to the base of the plug.

They pull it out together - the plug's gone and Xander's fingers are in when Spike's eyes roll up in his head.

"Gonna fuck me?" Spike's moving on Xander's fingers.

Xander's fingers are moving in Spike. "Try to stop me."

There's something to be said for the undead when it comes to a need for speed. Spike's got Xander out in the open before Xander's got his hands on Spike's hips and they both groan when Spike sinks down.

 

 

 

It's a beautiful morning.

It's a beautiful morning and the birds are singing and the waves are crashing.

Okay - so it's almost noon, Xander's hung over, the waves are _loud_ and Xander thinks the bird might've flown in through the wide open wall this place calls a window.

And he's half-covered by a lukewarm blanket of sleeping vampire flesh.

But it's still a beautiful morning.

Xander rolls over and the lukewarm vampire blanket rolls with him and Xander decides he'll appreciate the beautiful morning in the afternoon.

 

 

 

He wakes again to the smell of - well he doesn't know what the smell is but it makes his stomach sit up and beg. The rest of him sits up more cautiously and when everything seems to be staying in place, he opens his eye.

"What's that?"

Spike's eyebrow answers for him and Xander realizes he should be a lot more specific in where he points.

But apparently the career path isn't the only thing that's changed with Spike because he gives up the easy opening and sets a tray over Xander's lap. There's fruit and a bowl of something Xander can't identify but these days Xander's food is like his lovers.

If it looks good, eat it. If it is good, he can find out what it's called after and go back for seconds.

Spike clears his throat and Xander thinks he's prepared for pretty much anything.

Anything but what Spike does: he puts a Twinkie on the center of Xander's plate.

"Thought you might appreciate a comfort of home," he says without a trace of irony or embarrassment and yeah it's still a good morning. A great morning even if it's almost sunset.

And there's something to be said for old favorites - food and people.

"Thanks," Xander says and unwraps the Twinkie. He could ask where the hell Spike found a Twinkie in Vietnam but it's no weirder than Xander finding Spike in Vietnam. The part of him that didn't sleep through High School English class thinks there's a theme going on here and appreciates it.

The rest of him unwraps the Twinkie and takes the first blissful bite.

It's not a food product.

It's an experience.

It's a cream-filled golden pod-shaped piece of home.

"It's good."

"It's bloody disgusting." And it's reassuring to know not _everything_ about Spike has changed.

Just his career path and his opinion of Xander and maybe the council is paying him a _whole_ lot of money for this job.

"So," Xander says and sets down half the Twinkie for later because Spike's not the only one who's changed, "how much did they have to pay you to be nice to me?"

It's not the right question and Spike's _good_ at what he does because the look's gone from his face so fast Xander can't be sure he saw it.

It wasn't a good look.

The casual smirk on Spike's face isn't much better. "Isn't polite to discuss payment for a gift, Harris."

"You're a gift?" Xander holds up a hand. "And if you're gonna say 'God's gift to wankers everywhere' or something similarly arrogant and British, I'm exercising client's rights and saying to skip it."

Xander eats his breakfast. The bowl has soup in it, thick and salty with strands of egg and noodles that look like glass and Spike's tea smells like flowers and Spike drinks it instead of answering.

"This is good. What's in it?"

"Fish," Spike says without looking. He's got his tea in both hands and he's still sitting on the side of the bed. He doesn't look like a whore. He looks like Spike.

Apparently he doesn't feel like a whore either because when he looks at Xander it's a frank look. It's so frank - okay, Xander doesn't have a metaphor for frankness but it's really frank. Serious.

"Didn't have to pay me extra to be nice," Spike says against the rim of his cup. "Nice to see a familiar face, isn't it? And things change - people change." And Xander's nodding along because it is and Spike's still talking. "Gets old - doing the same thing. _Makes_ you old."

Xander gets that too.

He tells himself he's too busy with the soup to give Spike an answer in words.

It's good soup.

 

 

 

It's good soup and a good slow fuck with the windows open and the curtains billowing in - pink and orange and bruised purple with the sunset - and Xander hasn't had so much sex in years. So much sex his toes tingle and every joint and muscle is pleasantly limp and Spike doesn't look like he's in any hurry to climb off when they're done all stretched out and resplendent and - he's a hell of a gift.

"I take it all back. You're a gift."

Spike's chuckling and sliding off, wipes Xander down with the cool, damp towel and makes a show of cleaning himself - glimmering streaks of moisture, tempting drops that trace every line and muscle and Xander's dick is trying to respond to the sight like he's eighteen and not twenty eight.

And sure Spike's gorgeous - fucking perfect - but Xander's had a few perfect bodies in his time and that's not all that's at work here.

It's while Spike's got his eyes closed and head thrown back, slippery fingers up his ass and a hand palming his balls high so Xander can see, that Xander gets it.

Spike's not just good at what he does - he loves doing it.

So when Spike pushes another of the big black plugs - or maybe the same one - into Xander's hand and guides it between his thighs - leans forward close enough Xander can feel him breathing - they both moan when Xander slides it home.

"Best get dressed, pet." Spike's pushing back against Xander's fingers and breathing in time to the circles they're tracing around the base of the toy. His voice is rough and not totally steady. "Got places to be tonight."

"Yeah."

There's a slayer out there in the jungle in a hut.

"Ever thought about relocating to Cleveland?" Xander asks offhand.

 

 

 

It's James Bond time again. Agent 00X - or maybe Agent XXX considering his orgasm _per diem_ since arriving in Vietnam.

Xander sneaks a glance at Spike - it's a sneak in name only because Spike's walking a respectable pace behind him - there is no subtle way to glance at a man standing behind you and Xander's too old for the yawn and stretch.

So Xander imagines Spike instead.

Imaginary Spike is watching his ass.

Respectfully.

See - it's weird - the respectable and the pace but Xander decides to enjoy it even though Spike's gotta be the only whore in Southeast Asia who keeps a respectable pace behind his client when they're skulking through the jungle.

Which they are.

If anything, Xander should be following Spike's lead because if ever there was a master skulker, it's Spike.

There're other things Spike's really good at too but this isn't the time or the place to think about them. He thinks about work - about getting the slayer and getting out of this muggy paradise that'd be a great vacation spot if he was wearing swim trunks and a floppy hat and sipping a Mai Tai with an umbrella the size of Tahiti and not creeping through the jungle with his shirt sticking to his back with sweat and bugs trying to burrow under his patch. Cleveland starts to look good.

And when Cleveland starts to look good, it's time to get the girl and get gone.

Get the girl and get gone with the guy who hasn't given - Xander runs out of G words but the point is Spike gave him a great blow but no answer and Xander's itching to wring it out of him.

After he's got the girl because Xander's just that kind of responsible these days.

So he's all business - Mr. secret agent man who creeps through the jungle like he's been doing it for years.

He has.

Like he doesn't have a semi exploring his zipper.

Which he also has.

And a vampire checking out his ass. Xander turns and looks.

He has that too.

He stops and Spike blankets his back in vampire like it's an accident.

It isn't.

Xander decides not to remove Spike's hands from his groin.

"Where is it?"

"As the hornbill _Anthracoceros albirostris_ flies."

"The what?"

Spike points with the hand not down Xander's pants to something that looks like Toucan Sam and Sam the Eagle got down and dirty one wild partying night in the seventies.

It takes off.

They take off after it.

Crashing and thrashing and rambling their way through the underbrush. Spike moves like a ghost. Xander makes enough noise for both of them.

"How d'you go about finding them then?" Spike asks while Xander's fending off a wild frond in the foliage getting friendly and frisky with his forelock. "Can't tell me you sneak up on them."

Xander spares the time to give him a dirty look, so Spike doesn't get an answer before there's a cry kinda like a weird jungle creature only really not because weird jungle creatures don't make Spike yell _bloody fucking hell!_ and pull a few kung fu moves that do not come standard in the whore package.

Not even in Vietnam.

And Xander defeats the fronds and straightens his patch and hair and tries to look more respectable than a guy skulking around the jungle with a vampire whore because there's a girl under Spike with a stake in one hand - the hand Spike's gripping in his left like he's gonna dance a tango in a tutu before he lets go of it.

"I usually wait for them to attack a vampire," Xander says and crouches next to Suong. "Hi. He's one of the good guys."

She doesn't look convinced.

Actually she looks pissed.

Then she pulls a move that'd impress Buffy. It impresses the hell out of Xander and he's pretty sure Spike's impressed too while they're bouncing off the foliage together.

"They never believe you're one of the good guys. I think it's the hair."

"Fuck off."

"Seriously. Billy Idol spikes? They don't say _trustworthy_ to anybody."

Spike grunts and there's some rolling around in the mud and the leaves and the weird decomposing vegetation of the jungle floor.

"Okay - so it could be the elbow you keep jabbing into her kidney that got on her bad side." Xander takes the stake out of Suong's hand before it can do anyone any damage and pats himself down for a battered and dog-eared leather book stained with things Xander really doesn't want to think about. He opens it up to the bookmark and scans it a few times. "I'm not evil!" Xander says in Vietnamese so broken Suong would probably laugh if she wasn't trying to reach Spike's balls with her knee and Xander wishes he had a Vietnamese phrase for Spike too but the not so evil undead's on his own this time and he keeps reading - wishes he knew which part was the _there're real monsters_ part because he thinks that's kinda redundant at this point.

"Sodding hell, Harris! Are you reading that out of a _book_?"

Suong's giving him a look a lot like Spike's - heavy on the _what the fuck_? but lighter on the golden eyes and grr - at least he's got their attention.

Xander holds out his arms in a universal gesture of _don't blame the messenger_. "I told you I don't speak Vietnamese."

It's a good thing Spike does.

Suong doesn't exactly look convinced when she takes Spike's hand and stands up but she's stopped trying to gouge out body parts so Xander figures they're reaching a deal.

He's right.

Spike's smoothing his hair and Suong's straightening her skirt and everybody's keeping their hands where they can be seen.

Xander flips to the part in the book where he tells her she's safe with him.

She slaps a hand over the book and says, "You suck in Vietnamese."

Xander has no shame. "You'd be amazed how many languages I can suck in these days."

 

 

 

Spike can do more than suck in a lot of languages and Xander guesses it's one of those talents that made him a successful whore.

Well that and the way he can suck in the really universal language.

Spike's a talented vampire.

Who's debriefing Xander in a wholly non-sexual way on the walk back to Xander's boudoir of opulent Oriental splendor. "Is this standard with the whore package?"

"Nah." Spike ducks a branch Xander doesn't see and whips it out of Xander's path before he doesn't see it in a way more slapstick way.

"Thanks."

Spike drops the branch and fidgets like he wants a cigarette. "Not many clients appreciate the full range of my talents."

"I'm a client?"

"Technically the Council of Watchers is a client."

"You are so getting off on this aren't you?"

Spike's teeth kinda glow in the moonlight when he grins. "Point is, I'm being paid well enough to toss in a few extras."

"Like translating between me and my Slayer."

"Mate, you told her you were an iguana."

Xander considers throwing away the Council phrasebook but this answers a few questions about the incident in Borneo. "I hope you cleared that up."

"Bloody right I did. Sounds daft enough without coming over all out and proud about being a sodding reptile."

"Thanks," Xander says again. "You're a pretty expensive whore aren't you?" Questions like that don't feel strange anymore - Xander can't feel weird about asking Spike whore questions after all the places he's been.

And this time he doesn't mean Pashupatinath.

"Yeah - well - a bloke's gotta charge what he's worth."

Xander doesn't disagree.

In fact, he takes Spike back to that boudoir of opulent oriental splendor and spreads Spike out face down and naked on the blankets, ankles to the posts and arms stretched out above his head.

He doesn't have to tell Spike to stay.

He doesn't have to tell Spike not to move.

He doesn't want to tell Spike not to make those little noises that sound so good when Xander hits the good spots with his hands and thumbs and tongue and when Spike starts humping the mattress and curling his fingers into the pillows Xander figures its time to up the ante.

Or the Spike.

Who's slick and not too warm and takes both Xander's thumbs with a curse and a line of tension down his back.

Xander could get used to this always prepared thing.

Spike's got the Boy Scouts beat cold.

Xander watches his thumbs slide and stretch and feels the muscles in Spike's ass twitch and tense under his palms.

"Whatever it is," Xander says and he's pretty unprepared for the note in his voice that's saying _sex, sex now_ , "double it."

 

 

 

Xander's ready to triple it by the time the phone call comes from Giles telling him it's time to pack up his slayer and go home.

Triple it.

Quadruple it.

Whatever it takes to get Spike out of Vietnam and back to Cleveland.

Leave no man behind, is what Uncle Rory said.

As it turns out, it doesn't take much.

"That's what you miss?"

"Yeah." Maybe it's Xander's imagination but he thinks Spike sounds defensive. At least - as defensive as a guy can sound while having his balls massaged in oil.

"Seriously?"

"Said it, didn't I?" And it's not Xander's imagination - but a guy can't sound very defensive while he's pulling his knees up to his chest and showing off a butt plug Xander knows is a lot bigger than it looks from the outside.

Debauched is a good look on Spike.

"Because there's this bar across the street from my apartment that makes hot wings to die for - or, y'know - that make death worth living."

And when Spike groans, Xander's not sure it's all about what he's doing to the plug or what the plug's doing to Spike's ass stretched around it and all he cares about is replacing the plug with 100% all natural Xander.

He does.

This time he's pretty sure the groan's all for him and happiness is a lubed up and horny vampire on the end of his cock so the conversation gets shelved for after the sweating and groaning and grunting and _oh my god!_ when Spike shoves the plug - which Xander would've said was _way_ too big and been really really wrong about - into Xander's ass and makes him come like a fifteen year old.

Spike gives it a rub and tucks his hands behind his head and Xander thinks that unmanly whimper might've come from him.

He can't move.

So he talks.

"So - hot wings. Cleveland."

Spike looks like he's giving it some thought and Xander leaves him to it because he's feeling full and stretched and strings of orgasmy tingles from Mr. Prostate every time he moves.

"How're the rings?" Spike asks and doesn't look like he minds the way Xander's rubbing vaguely against him, cataloging the feelings from _mmm nice_ to _fuck. god. again._

"Greasy. Hot. Plentiful." Xander manages, sliding down Spike's body.

Because he knows what it takes to seal a deal with fine American cuisine.

 

 

 

 

Xander doesn't blink, flinch, cringe, or stammer anymore when he hands over local currency and receives as goods: forty-three point six kilograms of young girl with twenty-eight teeth in her mouth, one hundred and fifty-two centimeters tall.

He's just glad he didn't have to marry this one.

Because for a gay guy, he's kept the council's divorce lawyer really _really_ busy but a watcher's gotta do what a watcher's gotta do.

Even if the watcher's more of a finder.

And the guy who gets a vampire whore and a purchased slayer from island paradise to the airport in Hanoi which is pretty much miles - miles of bad roads and old jeeps - away from any kind of paradise.

Spike sleeps through it.

Suong reads a book.

And it's a relief to take off his suit jacket and tie and stuff them into the overhead bin with his carry-on.

It's a relief to slump into a first class seat on a plane bound for Osaka.

It's a relief to buckle in and close his eye until the plane's in the air because that's something he never _ever_ gets used to.

But relief isn't right the word for when he wakes up somewhere over the pacific with Spike curled against his shoulder under a fluffy blue Air Japan blanket, his pants open, and a cool hand wrapped around his hard cock making it a lot harder.

"Is there anything I can bring to you, Mr. Harris?"

It takes some groggy blinking and a heart-stopping moment of panic for Xander to sift _hand on my dick_ from _I need a drink_. The thoughts are really really close to each other. "How about a Screwdriver?" he asks like a guy who doesn't have a vampire making a slow, twisting motion down his cock and he's suddenly glad he didn't ask for a Bloody Mary.

And maybe this is the kind of thing he should expect.

Or does expect.

Because surprise is notably absent even though embarrassment's making a late showing and Xander wonders when he turned into the kind of guy who gets furtive hand jobs on Air Japan flights from Hanoi to Osaka. He wonders when he turned into the kind of guy who can think _Hanoi to Osaka_ like it's no big deal but can't remember the nearest cross-streets to where he lives.

He really wonders when he became the kind of guy to have existential crises while Spike ducks under the blanket and wraps his lips around the head of Xander's dick and sucks him off fast and neat and tucks everything back where it belongs before the flight attendant comes back with his drink.

And a single-serve bottle of Suntory White. "Ta, pet."

But Spike still tastes like _him_ when he kisses him and before he unscrews the cap and pours his bottle into the plastic airline cup.

Xander surfaces from the tingles and twitches and furtive looks around to see if anyone noticed anything. He licks his lips.

It's three-thirty in the morning, two hours from Osaka when he takes a drink of a really strong Screwdriver.

And lets the guy he used to be go.

Because he could get used to being this new guy.

This hand jobs on international flights guy.

This come and Japanese whiskey flavored kisses guy.

This guy.

The International Xander Of Mystery.


End file.
